‘So, can I take my dictionary?’ Angel batted her eyelids up and down, poking out her bottom lip and looking suitably like a cast member ofAnnie.
Hayley sighed. ‘You can take the dictionary as long as you promise not to take that ancient old Christmas storybook. I can’t take another year of Alfie falling into the toymaker every night for a week.’
She looked at Angel, waiting for her to relinquish the dictionary. Her daughter’s face was expressionless.
‘OK.’
‘OK?’ Hayley checked. ‘Are you sure? This must be one special dictionary.’
‘The dictionary comes and, for being an awesome mum, I think you should have some fizzy wine,’ Angel said, checking her watch. ‘It’s past eight o’clock and it’s nearly Christmas.’
‘Quick! Where’s the nearest bodega?’ Hayley smiled. ‘Come on, it’s late. Let’s move the case off the bed and tuck you in.’
She strained to pick the case up lengthways but managed toslide it down onto the floor without losing any contents or banging the floorboards too hard. It was a doubleCoronation Streetnight. When she straightened herself back up, Angel was slipping down under the covers, eyes wide open, but the first signs of sleep showing. She yawned.
‘Time for sleep,’ Hayley said, brushing a hand over Angel’s hair.
‘I don’t really mind if they don’t have Yorkshire puddings in New York, you know,’ Angel said.
Hayley looked at her daughter’s expression. There was concern in her large, blue eyes. She didn’t want that. Whatever life threw at them, none of it should ever come to rest on Angel’s shoulders.
‘I have good news.’ Hayley smiled. ‘Google tells me theydohave them and they’re called popovers.’
‘Really?’ Angel looked less than convinced.
‘Really. And the best news of all is they sell them in a ready-made mix.’
Angel broke a smile then and clenched her fingers into excited fists.
‘Reasons Christmas is going to be better in New York number eighty-four: they have Yorkshire puddings.’ Hayley grinned. ‘So, let’s recap. We know what a bodega is and we can probably pick up the Yorkshire pudding mix while we’re getting the fizzy wine.’
‘Mum!’ Angel said, swiping a hand at Hayley’s arm and laughing.
She kept the smile going but inhaled a long breath and watched the happy expression restored on her daughter’s face. This trip was all about Angel and she didn’t even know it yet.
Hayley leaned forward, kissing Angel’s forehead. ‘Go to sleep now. No reading up on George Washington or how many types of squirrel there are in Central Park.’
‘Only one: the grey squirrel and they’re in decline. Apparently?—’
Hayley put a finger to her lips and Angel stopped talking.
‘Time for sleep now but tomorrow, I want to hear all about the little critters.’
Angel smiled. ‘Night, Mum.’
‘Night, Miss Mensa.’ Hayley went to the door, turned off the light and stepped onto the landing.
She waited a few seconds, just wanting to stay in this happy bubble before everything in their lives changed, and then she heard the softest of voices.
‘Dear God, or Father Christmas, it doesn’t matter which… If you’re listening, I really, really want to find my dad.’
4
ST PATRICK’S HOSPITAL, MANHATTAN, USA
Oliver felt as if he had the contents of a toolbox in his mouth. Every single spanner and a dirty wrench. A horrid, metallic taste tainted his tongue and the flesh on the inside of both cheeks. It was making him nauseous – as was the chattering machine next to the hospital bed that was recording every movement of his heart. All the doctors arriving en masse when he’d been admitted had since disappeared. He was prostrate on the bed, the sensation in his chest now nothing more than a numb ache, Clara tapping on her phone next to him. Worry was etched on her forehead. He couldn’t be here any more. He hated these places and he needed to get back to work, get to the bottom of all that was going on with Regis Software. He tried to move into a half-sitting position.
‘Oliver, don’t you dare move. The nurse said you need to lie completely still.’ Clara clamped a hand to his forearm, dropping her phone into her lap.
